


Teacher teacher

by Stickytoffee



Category: The Original Sinners - Tiffany Reisz
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:28:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29133321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stickytoffee/pseuds/Stickytoffee
Summary: Nora has been dreaming of her teacher, Dr. Salinger, for months and unconsciously for years. With the looming Christmas break, she's pushed to the edge of her desire, their after school tutoring providing the perfect opportunity to satiate her appetite for him. Unbeknown to her, he has felt the same for just as long. Shocked by her sudden maturity, he banishes her from his mind, but she finds her way back in.
Relationships: Nora Sutherlin/Soren
Kudos: 3





	Teacher teacher

The corridor was dark, and she watched her reflection in the windows. A ghost girl looked back, with a sick smile on her mouth. She was tempted to turn and confront this girl head-on, but she knew it would destroy her image. She knew what she looked like; shorter, long dark hair in two French braids, tight to her skull, a school jumper and grey pleated skirt, brushing against her thighs. She listened to the swish of it against her skin. A door, open to the playground, burst inwards with a cold gust of night air. But she did not shiver, nor falter. If anything, the cruel wind spurned her on, and she lengthened her stride, listening to the satisfying click of her heels on the dark wooden floor.

She was heading to the corner office, at the end of the building. All other classrooms were deserted, only the purr of the computer monitors showed any sign of life. It was the last day of autumn term and she was headed to collect some extra homework from her science teacher. She knew he would stay behind when everyone else had gone. She knew he always waited for her to swing by on her way out. Although it was later than usual, this particular Friday, she still strode with a seductive confidence nearing his office door.

The quiet glow leaking from the doorframe finally quenched any lingering doubts of his absence she had pushed far away. She paused before her hand met the door handle. She collected her nervous breath and squared her shoulders. The faint drone of a sports commentary buzzed within the room, like an incessant fly. She knew he’d turn it off if she asked. The plaque, decorated with tinsel, on his door read “Dr. Salinger”. She rolled the name round her mouth, feeling the curves of the vowels with her tongue.

“Enter.”

She slipped passed the door, quietly pushing it shut behind her until the lock clicked. “Have a seat at the desk, my lovely. I’ve just got to finish this email.” He gestured behind himself to a chair piled with paperwork. Careful not to jumble the pages and books, she moved them to the floor by the wall and sat and waited.

She loved his office. On a tall block of filing cabinets, he had an eclectic array of mugs and an old limescaled kettle. She had drunk tea in his room many times. She knew the tin also contained shortbread biscuits. The first time he had offered, she had declined. It had felt indecent, then, to eat sugar coated shortbread in his office. Now she longed to bite into the cookie, press the semolina texture against the roof of her mouth and exhale slowly, watching his pupils dilate. She’d done that once, months ago, before the summer. She remembered the heat in the office then, the way it made her skin glisten. The way it made his skin glisten. She had wanted so desperately to walk over to him and lick the salty sweat off his jaw. She had imagined what other parts of his body she would lick sweat off. She had had an uncomfortable sensation between her legs all the way home. It wasn’t until August she stole the erotic fiction off her mother’s bookcase, read them cover to cover and realised the true pleasure of her own body.

The heated memory caused a blush across her cheeks, and gingerly, she pressed the cool back of her hand to her face, fanning herself slightly with her fingers. She let her eyes roam across the desk in front of her. Although he taught the sixth formers science, he also taught the younger years English. Tatty, peeling book covers with broken spines splayed out over the table, and she picked one up, flicking through the pages, the margins adorned with his notes. His handwriting was gorgeous, tall and slanting it rode across the page, sweeping her away with it.

“The Great Gatsby.” His sudden interruption made her jump, and she almost dropped the flimsy paperback, just catching it in a fumble of palms and fingertips. “Have you read it, my dear?” She did not answer immediately, carefully setting the book down first and reorganising her face before she looked him in the eyes. She frequently worried he could hear her thoughts.

“No,” she replied, “But I hear it is one of America’s finest modern novels.”

“Well. That’s all a matter of taste.” His tongue lingered on that last syllable and her stomach violently somersaulted. “I first read it at Oxford, studying for a degree in English. I read it over the summer, although in my mind it is a winter novella. But you are not here to listen to an old man ramble about his student days! How was your 18th?”

He swung round in his office chair, rummaging through a pile of papers under his desk, probably looking for her homework. “It was alright, just a few friends. It was the second weekend of November, but it felt like early September, so mild! We mostly sat in the barn and drank, listened to music. Danced, or at least tried too.”

“I always forget you live outside the city. How’s that young filly of yours, is she coming along well?”

“I might have her in shape for spring, and I’ll sell her on. She’s nice, but not my type. What are you looking for, down there?”

“Ah, just my diary. I wanted to check some dates and deadlines.”

Diary meant had a completely different meaning to her. Diary meant secret outpourings of her heart, something that was written by torchlight under the covers. She had kept one since she was little, but during her early teens, she had fell out of practice of writing it. When her parents split, she had taken it back up. Writing could be so cathartic. She felt a little outraged he filled his with dates and times. There were no dates, times or even names in hers. Except his codename. She had read back through earlier entries, a while ago. She found the first one that was about him and was shocked out how brazenly she had professed her love to him in that single page. Even though there was no date, from the handwriting style, she could have only been 15, maybe only 16 at the very oldest.

He pulled it out triumphantly and flicked through to a well-thumbed page at the beginning. “Tonight, I had scheduled in Arrhenius’ equation, are you up for it? It’s a lot of complicated maths, but I’m sure with a steady, patient teacher, you’ll learn.”

She shivered inadvertently at that last phrase. _You’ll learn._ It echoed round her head, and she bit her lip. She wanted him to teach her more than equations. Oh, how she yearned for him. To touch him, just once. To kiss him. Once, she had allowed herself to imagine him while touching herself. She hadn’t been able to meet his eye for two weeks in class after.

She took a sobering breath. “Yes, perhaps if we start now, we might finish before midnight!” She laughed nervously to cover her own husky, desire-filled voice. He laughed too, and her insides turned to hot lava.

* * *

An hour and a half later, she had plugged the last numbers into her calculator and sat back like a cat who had got the cream. As much as she loved him, and just being near him, she also loved Chemistry, and although she wasn’t always the best, she was fiercely determined. Only when she sat back in her chair, stretching out her shoulders to watch him mark her work, did she realise how close they were.

His knee was almost touching hers, his hand resting on it, the other holding a red pen, scanning down the page. She looked at his hand, resting there. If she could jog his knee with hers, would his hand slip onto her leg? And more importantly, would he move it back onto his own? She knew her attraction wasn’t completely unrequited. In the last few months, he had asked her to stay later, after finishing her work. It was always Fridays, so she never had to be in a hurry to leave, and naturally had agreed. At first they had talked about mundane things, mostly herself, her school work. Then what life was like at home. He had been overjoyed to discover she had horses and trained them over weekends and evenings. She had ventured to ask him about himself, too; his education, his homelife. He had shared with her just as generously.

One evening, late September, she had sat in his office and he’d leaned over to open a window. It was unexpectedly warm, and the school had already turned their central heating on. Instead of moving back immediately, he had stayed, hovering over her, balancing himself with one hand on the back of her chair. She remembered holding her breath, waiting for him to move away. Finally, he did move. But only his hand and he moved it onto her shoulder, at first on the outside, but then moving up towards her neck, until he cupped her jaw in his hand. Without thinking, she had turned her face just slightly and kissed his palm. A chaste, quick whisper of her lips on his skin. She heard and felt him sigh heavily, before moving a way as if he had been electrocuted.

She watched his hand now and thought about kissing it. She thought about sucking the digits deep into her mouth, twisting her tongue round them. Letting him force them deeper into her. Her love for him had moved beyond a schoolgirl crush. Since that September evening, when the horizon of possibility had suddenly expanded, she had grown ravenous for him.

He swung away, back to his desk and began to type at his keyboard. He spoke to her over his shoulder. “You really have nothing to worry about, pet.” He had a thing for calling her nicknames. “You took to that like a duck to water. I’ve got a wad of practice exam questions for you to work through over the Christmas break, but I also want you to have some time off, too. You more than deserve it after all the work you’ve put in lately.”

Two whole weeks, she thought miserably. Two whole weeks without him. She perched on the edge of the desk, watching him fulfil his usual routine. He stood and took the biscuit tin off the cabinet and opened it, beginning to look up to her and offer her one. But she had broken their sacred rite. Instead of perching on the desk, where she usually ate the shortbread round, she walked over to him. One step at a time.

* * *

He almost dropped the tin. He had wanted her for months, more so since the summer, her body had changed, her face, too. The cheekbones and jaw had become more prominent, the eyes brighter and sharper. When he looked at her, he felt like she could see right through him, down to his deepest, darkest desires for her. He remembered those evenings that stood out to him like way markers, mapping his growing desire for her.

The last evening of the summer, last school year. Had that really been less than six months ago? It had felt like an eternity, the ribbons of time stretching between then and now, being pulled tight like ropes by her. She had sat on his desk and eaten a shortbread biscuit. That was all she had done, but in his mind, it had been much more. She had undone the top button of her shirt, and the hollow of her throat had glistened enticingly to him, singing out to him. Begging him to kiss her. It was only when she had left his office, did he allow himself to slump over his desk and weep bitter tears of desire. He had reached down between his own legs and cupped his erection, not allowing himself to touch properly, withholding the release from himself as punishment.

Then that evening in September, when he had touched her shoulder. He remembered that only as a hazy dream, the kind he had in the moments between sleep and wake. When she had kissed his palm, his heart had leaped for joy, and fallen from twice the height as he realised what he had done. He knew he was playing a dangerous game, but he was afraid of losing it, and the only way to not lose was to play. Slowly, he had stopped touching himself in the evenings, hoping to clear his mind from thoughts of her. As much as he hated to admit it, the two-week break might be the calm he needed.

But here she was, standing in front of him, practically between his legs. Frozen like a startled deer, he suddenly became very conscious that he had last orgasmed six weeks ago. Right now, he was hard as a rock and he prayed she couldn’t see. She took the biscuit tin he had been using to cover himself and set it on the desk. Then she took off her tie, winding and unwinding the ribbon between her fingers and over her knuckles. He gulped, thinking of all the dirty things he would beg her to do with that tie to him. She licked her lips and with one sudden, smooth movement, she was straddling him in his office chair, her knees balancing herself either side of his own thighs. She felt like a dream. Would she slap him if he asked her to, to find out if it was?

* * *

Slowly, she lowered her crotch, so she was sitting right above him and tried an excruciatingly soft grind against his hips. He moaned, loudly, and his eyelids fluttered. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he sighed. His hands fluttered down her sides and then the front of her shirt, undoing the buttons and pulling her against his chest. Her body , although covered by a lacy bra, still felt incredible. However, she had other ideas and still holding the tie, grabbed his wrists and pinned them above his head, wound and tied the cloth round them. Through hooded eyes, she ran her hands over his shoulders and chest, down over his tummy and yanked the tucked shirt from under his trousers’ waist band. Flicking the buttons one by one, he noticed the tremble of her thighs over his and lifted his own hips into her, telling himself it might steady her, but knowing it would do the complete opposite. She shuddered against him, and he gasped. She was so wet and warm; he could even feel it through his trousers. He wanted to hold her, tell her what a good girl she was being.

Before he got the opportunity to, she lowered her mouth to his chest, flicking her tongue over his nipples. She slid off his chair and pushed open his legs, leaving herself kneeling on the floor between them. She continued to glide her tongue down his body, following his happy trail but frequently deviating to gently bite his hip bones. He moaned and bucked, and she pushed down on his hips, holding him firmly in place in his chair.

She smirked up at him. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you. All you have to do is ask, using those big boy words.”

His jaw dropped open and he slumped in his chair. He could not believe what she had just done to him, and what she was offering. It was as if Christmas had come early, and he would too, if he weren’t careful. An image of her lips sucking on the top of a pen flashed through his mind. He couldn’t ask that of his sweet darling girl, could he?

“Anything?” It was barely a whisper but hung in the air like a velvet cloth, smothering both of their raging flames of desire temporarily. She held eye contact with him and slowly nodded. He could barely look at her beautiful, innocent face and say the words on the tip of his tongue. But he forced himself to, it was the least she deserved. “I want- I would like, please…”

“It’s ok, tell me what you need. Whatever it is, it will completely satisfy me too.”

He felt a stray tear spill over down his cheek and she wiped it away. It had been so long since he’d allowed himself this intimacy with another person. He longed to touch her, for her to touch him. His body ached with want.

“Please will you taste me? Please will you put me in your mouth?”

She closed her eyes and sighed, nodding. She had hoped he would ask her that, earlier when she had toyed with her lower lip with the tip of her pen, she had imagined it was his cock, slowly rimming her mouth. With slow, soft hands, she cupped his crotch and massaged through the material, eyes intent on the buckle of his belt. He lifted his hips and she unthreaded it, running it through her hands like she had done with the tie. Faster, more desperate now, she undid his top button, then yanked down the fly. He groaned at the sudden release of pressure, the whimpered at the sudden pleasure. She had shimmied her hand in between his underwear and skin, reaching in to slide her hand over the velvet skin of his cock. She let out a small breathy pant in anticipation, bringing her mouth close to the blushing tip poking from the top.

When her soft wet mouth finally closed around him, he bucked his hips in surprise and his back arched off the back of the chair. Eyes screwed tight shut he breathed out _fuck_ and brought his bound hands down to gently rest on her bobbing head. He didn’t pull on her hair, but massaged her skull, gently moving it from her eyes and mouth. They exchanged a glance of full unadulterated joy, her mouth moaning around his cock. Now she was here, and it was real, he fought against the impulse pounding in him. He wanted to grab her hair, he wanted to control her rhythm. He wanted to fuck her throat.

As if reading his mind, she pulled off him with a pop. “Feel good?”

“Mhm, my sweet, sweet girl.” He growled in his throat and she felt her knees weaken even though she was already kneeling on the floor. “Would you let me help you make me feel even better?”

She nodded, but before she could open her pretty little mouth to say anything more, he grabbed her hair with his bound hands and forced her mouth down on his cock. At first, she fought and jerked against him, gasping round his base for air. But slowly, as he knew she would, she readjusted, breathing through her nose and relaxing her throat. He glided in and out of her mouth, her tongue wrapping round him, hollowing her cheeks to make her mouth tight and slippery. Fisting his hands in her hair, he pushed her down on him longer, deeper, too. Just as he could feel a tightness swell in his hips and his hands start to relax in her hair, she jerked away, spluttering.

“Not yet.” Her voice came out as a croak and she swallowed several times, still gasping for air. She stood, pulling him up to meet her. They stood in his office, she was slightly shorter than him, but even she still managed to look down at him, a dominant glint in her eyes. This time, it was his insides that turned to lava. “Kiss me, Dr. Salinger.”

The breath caught in his throat. How could she still call him that even though she knew his first name, after what they had just shared? He was tempted to put his clothes on and walk out, but then he caught her eye. It was then he understood the full gravity of what this meant to her. He had to be _Dr._ Salinger to her, she would have no other man.

He bent to kiss her lips. It was as if he had just climbed a ladder to the moon, to kiss her under orchids and blooming lilies, their intense iridescent white lighting his insides up. He felt breathless, and suddenly aware of her hands, clinging to his shoulders, as if he were the last man she would ever kiss. It felt like an eternity, but when she drew back, he felt her loss keenly.

“You’re such a good boy? Do you know that?” He nodded and whimpered. “But I want to feel good, too. I have waited so long, too. Its only fair. And who knows? If you’re good you can even call me Mummy.” His stomach plummeted. He may have been her teacher, but he would serve every whim of hers for a thousand years if he were given the opportunity.

She pulled him forward by his still bound hands and laid back on his desk. “Kneel for me, baby. Prove how much you love me.” He did exactly as she asked, mirroring the position she had been in earlier. He knelt between her knees, dangling off the edge of the desk and placed his hands on her stomach, pushing her legs apart, angling his head in between them. She sighed at the release then yelped, as she felt his tongue slide up and down her, playing with her body. She had only ever used her own fingers before, but this was far better. It was heavenly and she rocked her hips, pushing herself into his hot, wet mouth.

She drifted her hands down to his head, guiding him at the perfect angle. She moaned out his name, not Dr. Salinger, but the one he had once asked her to call him outside of class. Then, she had refused, but she used it now. It tumbled from her lips like music and he moaned into her, the vibrations pushing her over the edge. With a sharp shock, she suddenly came, spilling luxuriously into his mouth. Her small frame shook, and she gasped, arching away from the desk. When she finally caught her breath back and looked down, he was still sat between her knees. She slid forward and sloppily off the desk and into his arms.

“I’m so sorry, I completely forgot about you. Do you need me to….?” Now the haze had passed, she felt guilty she hadn’t let him cum like he had let her. She wanted to give him that, too. But when she looked between his legs, she saw he wasn’t erect anymore and she smiled knowingly. “Touched yourself while you fucked me with your mouth?”

He felt like he couldn’t breathe or move. Everything felt so utterly intense and overwhelming, but from somewhere he heard his own voice reply, “No, I never touched myself. I came when you pulled my hair. It was too much; I couldn’t help myself. I’m so sorry.”

She kissed him then, too, amongst the furniture and collapsed towers of paper. Her hands fluttered around him and he pulled her tight. “You should come back to mine for dinner?”

She nodded; she was hungry. And eating food whilst looking at this gorgeous Adonis who couldn’t stop kissing her lips, her shoulders, her cheeks, what could be better?


End file.
